


atoms, scribbles, and your imaginary eyes

by grumpysimon



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: AU, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Found their number in a library book AU, Multi, Romance, Runaway AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:14:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1252381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpysimon/pseuds/grumpysimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was quite and ordinary day, really, when John Smith found a slip of paper tucked inside a book he was previewing at the library. It had a phone number on it, scrawled in the handwriting of someone who was thinking about something else. It was adventure for a bored boy, so he dialed the number, unknowing that it would lead him into the adventure of his life, over an obsession with a girl who might be dead, but still a girl who might just be who he was looking for, a young, bickering couple, and a group of people he'd never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be releasing a few dumb AU's, much like this one, just because I have serious writers block on my main fics and I just have so much inspiration for anything and anything that does not involve New York or the 1960's or the backstory of an AU River Song. Oh well. I'll hopefully release these in full chapter updates, and I'm trying to get the spacing to not be dumb. I'm probably just making dumb mistakes and everyone is laughing at me. So be it.  
> Also, I have requests open for Eleven/River and Ten/Rose and Wincest and a few other ships right now, so if you want me to write you something, either leave me a comment somewhere or shoot me an ask at hopefulbluebox.tumblr.com. I hope you all enjoy this one!  
> <3 Kenzie

       John Smith didn't understand the concept of librarians. He'd seen them be a bit romanticized, at least by Rose, as some cute college student with a lip piercing and a love for Kerouac. He wasn't much seeing that now, considering he'd found himself trapped among the other main residents of his town library, the grumpy librarians; an ancient group of bickering old women, arguing over a best novel of some questionable type. 

 

    With a quiet "pardon me," John passed through, his head facing to the ground. He was young and off-beat, 21 and studying astronomy and history at the university just less than an hour away. He only had one friend, a young lady with the name of Rose Tyler, who was kind and could sometimes be quite the riot. They'd been friends for ages, and Rose attempted to help John with job opportunities when she could, since John had some amounts of money, but he was still living on dollar shop food.  John found his way to the biography shelves, which faced the wall of everything history. John Smith loved reading about the people, but he also loved reading about the places and the meanings and the moments. It filled his head with something much more exciting than a boring town in Iowa with nothing but slobs and preps, which was a term that John despised. 

 

  He opened up one he'd been considering last time, but he'd limited himself from checking out too many, because he still had to walk home a mile or so in the boiling hot sun. It was just a dumb summer day, mid-June, and John Smith was bored. Rose Tyler would be rambling about her umpteenth boyfriend, as usual, and all John wanted to do was read a book. He loved the type of book that was about a real person in the real world, but it still seemed like fiction. John Smith wanted to question the reality of all it. They were his fairytales. 

  

   He opened a book with the title of  _Book of the Greats_ , and it had short biographies of someone who had dared to consider this amount of people to be the greatest who ever lived. John reminded himself that some of these people weren't even creditable, they'd simply stolen, just to look cool because they seemed on one of the levels of "intelligent." Look at me, aren't I brilliant, with my plagiarism and my hate for anyone who doesn't fit in the minuscule space they must fit to be referred to as my equal. 

 

  John was about to close the book when a small sheet of paper tucked inside of it fluttered to the ground. Words escaping from other words. He picked up the small slip, unfolding it with curiosity. It was exciting, and he played along with his imagination like he was young again. Scrawled on the paper was a telephone number.  John felt disappointed, but his curiosity still thrived. He wasn't going to call the number, that was sure. That was like putting up a big sign on his roof that said "murder me!"

   

   John Smith was definitely not going to call that number. He was dumb, but not that dumb. He at least had some sensibility, no matter how much it was thinning. But it just was simply  _fascinating._ He couldn't just let it all slip, it could be the most interesting thing that happened to him. He was tempted to tuck the number back in the book, and not make a enormous deal out of it. He couldn't help it, though. He tucked the number into his back pocket. College was hell, and he wasn't just going to let a wild opportunity like this pass by. 

   

"Who puts their telephone number in a book, anyway?"

John said to himself. A few people shot him a glance, but the rest of them seemed indifferent. He was just another student who blended in with the others. He searched for more books and such, peeking into them for a glance of history. He checked out one or so, but it was hard for him to focus, for there was a burning in his pocket, a secret.

\------------------

John Smith walked home to a small apartment he was sharing with Rose. They weren't dating anymore- they had been, but they'd broken up a while back and stayed as room mates. Most assumed that John was gay, and Rose broke the nose of anyone who dared to insult him. It was a miracle that they hadn't gotten into at least some sort of trouble. 

 

Other than those who thought of John as inferior, most respected him. He was stellar in science and history, but his literature skills, as well as his skills in math were simply fantastic. He was, to most, a genius. He could have girls throwing themselves at him if he took his head out of a book. It was dumb, really. 

 

"And he returns!" Rose said. She was reading a textbook with a cup of coffee and hand, and smiled when John walked in the door. He wanted to spill the details of the phone number in the book, but he kept it to himself. He had a sort of oddball feeling that it was just for him, a special little mystery just for John Smith.

 

"Hullo, Rose Tyler, how is your day going?" John asked her. She took a sip of her mug of coffee. "Lovely. Did you get anything interesting, John Smith, man with the most common name in the world?" Rose asked. She was getting her MFA so she could become a writer. She loved all types of writing forms, but she also painted her heart out. 

"Nothing you would be in any way interested to read, Rose." He said, laughing. "Must you be so nosy?" He finished. He fingered the piece of paper in his pocket, curious. Not that he was going to call it. He wouldn't dare. At least that was what he was trying to convince himself, considering he was simply enthralled with the idea- someone who had been bored or brave - either or - enough to put their phone number in a book of the greats, as if they wanted to trap themselves inside said book and become preserved along with those who they wished to be like. 

"Alright, John. May I go back to my studying now?" Rose said. John nodded, with an accompanying "of course." It was a small apartment, one bedroom, with a larger living room and a minuscule kitchen. The two had sectioned off the living room with simple curtains, that becoming Rose's space. They'd bickered over it for a long while, but eventually Rose had given in and let John have the bedroom. 

John went off to the bedroom, flopping down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling, fingering the number. He didn't know why he was quite so enthralled by it all. It was possibly just because it just seemed so un-belonging in reality. It seemed more like the thing that you would find in a page-turner type of novel, and John adored the thought of it all. 

His eyes lingered on the telephone for awhile, wondering the possibilities of who might answer if he were to dial. Of course, he wasn't, it was just something to ponder over for a while. It could send him into a spiraling adventure, but it could also lead him to his death. It could be his future self, wanting to talk about the weather. John smiled at the thought. Maybe he could write a book about it- Conversations About Weather and the Future of Myself, that's what he could call it. 

It took John a minute to realize he had moved the phone- him and Rose's "home phone" over into his lap. He hadn't been able to pay his cell phone bill yet. He stared at the phone, wondering why this had all become such of a big deal. After all, it was just probably a number of some pedophile tucked into a library book. He dismissed it, and took his library book from the foot of the bed. He opened it and pretended to read it for a while, his mind still on the scrawled phone number sitting on his dresser. 

After a while, he gave up, picking up the phone. He then proceeded to dial the number.


	3. Chapter 3

Some people can just tell when they meet someone who is running. They can see it in the speed of their walk, how they wolf down their meals, as if there is something coming for them, always just around the corner. Too far away to see, but too close to stop to take a breath. The people who saw those who were running were especially aware of a girl named River Song. Of course they didn't know her name, but if they saw her again, caught even a glimpse of her wild hair, they would know that she was still running. She had an atrocious past, one that she was hiding from. Most of the time, monsters just leave. But when monsters leave and you think they are finally gone, sometimes the monsters will return, and they will be stronger.

\---------------------------------

The phone rang for a moment, light amounts of static in the background caused by the terrible connection in John's bedroom. He thought it was just going to go to a non-personal voice mail when a loud, horribly bickering pair picked up.   
"Noyougivemethephonenoshe'smybestfriendIhadherfirstnoyoudidn'tlalalalalanonoshutupDAMNITRORY!" Was most of what John heard, combined with a sort of scuffling you'd hear when two angry cats were fighting. After a moment, the two calmed down. John heard a strong Scottish accent with a hint of breathlessness. 

"River?" She said quietly, in the way that someone would say where they were so hopeful: they didn't want to speak too loud for fear of breaking some thin layer of ice of sorts. 

"I'm afraid not." John said. "I fear I've just walked into a highly dramatic situation, and I'd like to get out of here as fast as I can." He muttered. 

"Oh, no you do not!" A man shouted from the other side of the call. Apparently he had been put on speaker phone to resolve the disagreements between the two. "I'm well trained at tracing phone numbers and I will find you and kill you if you have done anything to Melodie!" He yelled. "Rory!" Screamed the Scottish one, and more bickering began from the other side of the line. John decided to stay on the line for a moment, considering he had nothing else better to do and he'd rightfully walked right into it.

The arguing stopped after a moment. "Please, just tell us how you got this number." The Scottish One pleaded. "This is the first we've heard of anything related to her in a long time. Maybe you could help us?" Scottish prompted. John shrugged, forgetting that they couldn't see him.

"I suppose. I will not be of much help, though. I just found this phone number tucked into a library book. I know hardly anything about it, I was just curious." John sighed, a vague feeling of guilt settling over him. 

"So here's what your saying," the other man- John supposed his name was Rory said, "you found a phone number in a library book of someone who you didn't know anything about and you just decided to dial it? Without taking a single precaution?" Frankly, Rory was the only one thinking sensible. John was bored and curious, which led him to not thinking about whatever he was getting himself into, and Amy, the one with the Scottish accent, was too hopeful to see anything else except for the fact that they might just have a lead on the disappearance of their best friend.

\---------------  
Amy was incredibly over hopeful, since the police had simply dismissed the investigation after only a few days. River Song had went missing mysteriously, of course, but that wasn't enough to look, since she was a legal adult and could take care of herself. She was twenty three, and almost out of college. But Amy wasn't going to let that go anytime soon, and neither was Rory. After all, she'd left her cell phone and her wallet with all of her money in it. 

Rory was convinced, too, that she wouldn't have left without giving the two at least a little bit of notice. Something, just something little. Maybe a 'I think I am going to travel,' or, 'I'm tired of this town, I truly am. We all should get out of here sometime.' Just a hint at her being tired of it all. Amy and Rory knew that River Song came with a dark past included, but it was all left to the past, and hardly ever discussed. It was never a problem, either. It was simple; the three of them stay in the present, and the past was nothing but ever receding. 

"Would you mind telling me your names, before I decide to just meet you?" It was all going a tad bit too fast, but that was how the best of stories go. 

"Amy and Rory Pond." Amy said. This man she was talking to had to know something about her best friend- and she wasn't going to let him go, that was for sure. "Williams, actually." Rory corrected. John didn't hear it, but Amy punched her husband in the arm, getting a quiet 'ow!' from him. "How about you, mister library book guy?" Rory asked. This man still seemed suspicious, and he wasn't going to trust him anytime soon.

"John Smith." He said. The three decided to meet for coffee on Friday, and John couldn't wiggle his way out of it. He didn't mind, really. It was better than just sitting around and studying all the time.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I need constructive criticism! I really, really do. If I have any typos, too many commas, blah blah blah, please do tell me. Tell me how I can improve, tell me what you want to see more of, tell me what you want to see less of. Honestly; I just want feedback- describe your dog in extreme detail and I'll be extremely pleased. Have a lovely day.


End file.
